


The Colour Green

by vienne_la_nuit



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/F, I suppose at least, Post "Queen of Hearts", from 2x09 on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-04 00:17:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienne_la_nuit/pseuds/vienne_la_nuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regina has no idea, what the consequences of breaking the spell put upon the well could be. Not that she would have cared. At the time she was once again desperately trying to earn her son's lost trust in her. And now, it's already done, nothing really matters any more, nothing really could matter any more... /post- "Queen of Hearts"/</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At the Apple Tree

**Author's Note:**

> This story is going to be about 10 chapters long, and it might be slow paced, since I have a rather hectic schedule as a student. But don't fret, I fully intend to finish this journey. These are the already posted first four chapters, in the coming weeks I should have enough time to continue writing.
> 
> I do feel like I should warn you, I tend to approach a lot of things from a slightly philosophical point of view, and as it happens, this could be recognized on my writing. So if you were looking for a leisure stroll accompanied by nice and fluffy words, well I might disappoint you. 
> 
> Obviously, the 'Once Upon A Time -verse' isn't my property, I am merely stretching my limbs here, playing with its world and characters and with 'what if'-s...

_The first time it happens, Regina is absolutely unprepared for it. And for anything else that follows._

“Congratulations.  You just reunited mother and son.  Maybe one day they’ll even invite you for dinner.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s, no, Mr. Gold’s condescending voice rings through the pawnshop, he might be saying something else too, but Regina doesn’t hear him anymore.  The sound of the closing door still echoes in her ears.  She is once again left behind.  Regardless what she has done, regardless in which realm, regardless its magnitude, at the end she is always left behind, alone.  This seems to be the only constant in her life.

She knows, feels that her eyes are glassy with unshed tears, she swallows to keep them at bay.  Regina takes a deep breath.  The shop’s air – sickly rich with dust, scent of old books and wood polish - does nothing to ease her sudden feeling of being suffocated.  She has to get out of here, even if she knows there is no place for her.  She has simply lost too much over the years to find comfort anywhere, not to mention the feeling of safety. 

And now this, fate’s latest strike.               
She has willingly given up elemental parts of herself, like her detested-yet-somehow-desperately-needed magic that _she was born with_ , for the sole reason to prove herself worthy of her son’s affection.  She has given up herself, turned against her own nature, forced herself to become someone else, carelessly and without a second thought severing her only ties, her only anchor in this world: herself. 

She has never had anybody to count on but herself, and now she doesn’t even recognise this person.  She strived to become someone else, someone deserving the love of a child, yet no matter what she has done, it wasn’t enough.  Henry chose once again his birthmother over her.

Regina slowly reaches out for the boy’s blue blanket, and numbly walks out of the shop, never noticing Gold’s strangely intense look as he follows her retreating form down the street.

Regina’s movements are stiff and extremely slow, her limbs barely obeying her.  The stabbing pain in her arms and upper chest reminds her that she should drink an excessive amount of water to prevent the possible bone damage, the accumulation of calcium carbonate, caused by electrocution.  Yet a moment later this thought has already left her mind.  She absentmindedly walks down the streets of Storybrooke, she doesn’t notice anything, not even that she is _walking_ instead of driving, that her car is still at the edge of the forest, that she is slowly stepping out of her high heels, leaving them abandoned in the middle of the pavement.

Gingerly she lifts the blanket to her nose, takes in the scent of her son, her mind instantly overflows with memories of a happier time, of past.      
_A grinning five-year old asks for one more bedtime story.  A three-year old Henry is soundly napping on the couch in the living room after an exhausting day of jumping in heaps of fallen autumn leaves, the corner of his blue blanket is in his mouth, he is sucking on it even in sleep, even though he is too old for this.  Regina smiles down softly at him, and eases the droll-drenched piece of fabric from his grasp and mouth, only for Henry to move in his sleep, to tuck his thumb into his mouth and begin to suck on it.  She chuckles at his son’s antics and slowly brushes his light brown hair out of his face.  He stirs in sleep mumbles something, snuggles up to her and sighs contently._

By this time Regina’s tears are running down her cheeks freely.  Her grasp on the blanket tightens, but she lets her hand fall down limply next to her body, the blanket hanging barely an inch over the ground.  She takes a deep breath in a desperate attempt to clear her head, or at least find something, _anything_ in herself to hold onto.

She feels like an ocean of emotions threatens her to swallow up her whole.  Dark waves crushing over her head, and the feeling of suffocation just increases.  Despair, resignation, loneliness, love for her son, and an immense amount of desire to prove that she _is_ lovable, she can be loved, she can be _good_.              
Her hopeless thoughts echo in her mind slowly luring out long buried, but never forgotten, detested childhood memories...

 _‘No.’_   She won’t go there, as it is, she has no idea how she is going to get through this day, she doesn’t need to recall _those_ memories too on top of everything.

Her own son rejected her.  She knows, he has given her a chance, but still somehow this has the bitter aftertaste of rejection.  It seems he turns to her, when nobody else can solve his problems, as a last resort.  Not as the first.  And absolutely not when something important or even banal happens to him and he wants to share it with a trusted person.  She knows this is partially her own fault, but it hurts nevertheless.  Her own son doesn’t even try to ask her about her reasons, or just simply hear her out.  She would never ask for acceptance - that is something that nobody apart from Daniel was willing to give her in all her life.  So she ceased to seek it a long time ago.  She just wants to be heard for once.  By Henry.  No one else.  Because no one else can possibly matter compared to him.

Would it really break Henry and his world if he took a step, no matter how small in her direction?  Instead he is just naming the conditions and demanding of her to change.  She understands his reasoning, and sees the wrongs in her past and her own actions too, but it still hurts that according to today’s happenings, she could, emphasised _could_ , be _tolerated_ by him, if she let him go, let him be with his birthmother and her newly-found family, if she accepted and never asked for more of his affection he is sparsely willing to give her.  But this also means that in a way she has to _give him up_ , she has already let him go, but giving him up would be an entirely different affair.  Something that she could never ever do to Henry.  Or herself.

She _could_ be tolerated by him _after_ she has done everything in her power to fulfil his requests, no matter what the consequences for her are.  After she has proven that she can be anything, _but herself_.  She understands the reasoning and importance behind this, she knows she hurt her own child.  Nevertheless, there is a small voice in her head that keeps asking:  _‘Am I that despicable?  Is there truly nothing in me that would be worth for if nothing else but for questioning?  Questioning of why I did everything I have done?  Something that is worth for a flicker benefit of doubt?  That I won’t fall back to my old ways that I am not the same person anymore that I truly have changed?’_   To which extent she has no idea, but she has changed.  She doesn’t want acceptance nor understanding nor pity, merely she wants someone to hear her small voice too, and don’t look at her with eyes that silently scream at her you will fail, no matter what you do.

Is it too much to ask for one person who could see how dark, not _necessary_ evil she is, know what she has done, yet they could look at her and tell her: ‘I know you are in a dark place, I know you are battling your own demons, but I believe in second chances, and I believe you could leave this behind you.’

Obviously it has been too much to ask for something like this.

So she has done everything Henry asked her to.  Without a second thought.  Because that’s what mothers do, they do anything in their power to make their child happy.  So she tried to be anything but herself, yet it still isn’t enough, once again, no matter what she does it isn’t enough.  Once again she is the one who stands outside, looking at the life, people around her as if she were behind a constant and untouchable glass wall.  She can interact with anybody, but nobody truly can reach her.  Or as today has thought her: nobody _wants_ to reach out to her, and her own attempts are as useless as they have always been.

And of course, today’s another big discovery leaves her more unsettled than ever before.  No matter how lonely or heartbroken she had felt in the past, she knew that she could at least count on herself.  However how deranged or enraged that self was.  But after today, she doesn’t recognise herself anymore.  She has given up so much of herself, that she has _no_ idea who she is, or what else she could do to prove herself.  To gain the trust of a child.

She bitterly and without any mirth chuckles at her own wretchedness.       
_‘Best think about something else...’_  


As a way of preventing to dwell on today’s happenings or their meaning, she tries to concentrate on small things around her.  The whole picture of the outside world still feels like it is slipping through her hands and she can’t truly grasp any of it, so she turns to small details that she hopes she is able to handle.

She takes a deep breath.  The cool fresh air of the late autumn feels good, tastes of something new.  She likes this idea, so she lets her eyes fall momentarily shut.  She feels as the slightly chilly breeze plays with her hair, she imagines as it blows away all her problems, as it erases parts, memories of her that she doesn’t want to drag her down anymore, she imagines as a new chance is given her...

 _‘I can do this.’_   She thinks at last.    
No matter what happens, what is asked of her, _she can do this_.  She _is the Queen_ after all, and she knows that somewhere deep inside her there still are parts of Daniel’s Regina too.  She is the Queen and Regina and Mayor Mills and a mother, despite everything, and this time around she won’t let anybody play her, and she won’t let her emotions control her.  Yes, she is once again left to face the world alone, but this is nothing new, and hardly anything she hasn’t done before.  In this case she simply has to get to know herself anew before she does anything of great importance.

With this she determinedly opens her eyes, allows herself a small pleased smile that could have never be seen on the face of Mayor Mills, only on the faces of the Queen –back then it has been insincere, or on the face of Regina who has done something mischievous to surprise Daniel.  ‘ _Yes, I can do this.’_   She straightens her posture, she becomes once more as regal as ever, flattens the wrinkles on her black trench coat out, with her eyes follows the length of her black dress pants... and stares disbelievingly at the stockings-clad feet.  She huffs in annoyance at herself and quickly looks around the street, a slight blush colouring her cheeks.

Luckily, she is close to her house, just another short street away, so she lengthens her strides and walks towards her home.  Her steps are as graceful as ever, but somehow surer, more determined than before, like she has a purpose.

Only now notices Regina just how cold the pavement truly is under her feet.  And just how _much_ her muscles in her arms and upper chest hurt.  She feels as the stabbing muscle pain slowly seeps to her bones, only to leave an increasingly burning sensation in its place. 

Truth be told, it wasn’t one of her most... _graceful_ magical moments when she absorbed all that magic put upon the well _into her own body_ , and as a result willingly electrocuted herself.  And perhaps on a scale between thinking everything through with a cool head and coming to a rational solution – to existing as Emma-Annoying-Tendencies-To-Show-Unnecessary-Heroism Swan, well this electrocuting herself certainly was on the Swan side of the scale.  And for this alone Regina certainly would be extremely outraged at herself, if she wasn’t that desperate at the time, or if she could concentrate on anything else now but the increasing pain in her body.

Finally she reaches her house, without even bothering to look at the front door, or up at the building, because she knows nobody is here to wait for her, she walks to the back, carefully seeking out the only thing that could offer her any feeling of familiarity: her apple tree.

Yes, by sheer stubbornness or willpower she has decided that she is getting through this most recent abandonment and any of its consequences, however she still craves someone who could embrace her and would lie to her that everything is going to be alright.  But as she has none of this, she merely numbly drags her fatigued self to her tree, something that stands for binding together the past and the present with the future.  Something that _could_ symbolise her own life, yet it still is capable of blooming and bearing new fruits every year.

Regina smiles sadly at this thought, lifts her right palm, and carefully traces the bark in front of her, caressing as if it would be someone’s skin.        
She alarmingly notices that even this small gesture pains her immensely, yet in true Regina fashion, she grits her teeth and pushes this thought deeper in her mind.  She still has some thinking to do before the day ends.

She turns, and slowly slides down with her back pressed against the bark, sits on the ground, folds her legs sideways under her and covers her lap with Henry’s blanket.  She absentmindedly follows the patterns with her left index finger.

Henry told her today that she should know better than anyone that good always wins.  She can’t help but be a bit saddened that her normally so perceptive and smart son is this ignorant.  Or perhaps it is just his age, she isn’t sure of that yet.  However, fact is that he not only sees everything black and white, but he ignores everything that isn’t acceptable with the way he sees the world.  He doesn’t question anybody’s back story, anybody’s reasoning, yes he is suspicious and curious from nature, but in the same time he willingly decides what is real and what is not.  And this is a truly dangerous standpoint, not because he believed in fairytales, or that Santa is real, but because he solely based on his beliefs ignoring any reasoning, any arguments, any opinions other than his own.  Regina has always wanted him to be able and understand as much of this world as it is possible, to be open minded, to be open for new ideas.  Because if she learned something in her past then it is to recognise how dangerous people are who force their reality upon others.  Beginning from ‘love is a weakness’ and ‘you never should lose your mother’ to ‘you should learn to do magic, dearie’...  She has never wanted that Henry becomes someone who doesn’t question, who isn’t willing to listen.  But as it seems she has failed, in this instance too, despite their numerous conversations, and despite her slightly desperate attempt to let Hopper help him.

“You should know better than anyone that good always wins.”  Regina scoffs tiredly, and at the same time she is somehow glad that despite everything her son was able to beware his naiveté.  She just wishes it wasn’t at her expense.  She would love to ask him to define good or evil.  Who is good?  His grandfather, the former shepherd, who hides behind his dead twin brother’s identity, or behind the title of being Snow White’s True Love?  The fairies who always have been impossibly biased towards certain people and ignored others to an unthinkable measure?  Or generally all the people on the ‘good side’, who can do anything, tramp on anyone, hurt anybody?  They are never called to account for anything they damage in the process of ‘doing good’, or even to own up their mistakes, because apparently only the outcome matters, not the way, how you got there...

It’s laughable that good always wins.       
She desperately wishes that there wouldn’t be only two labels in their world.  Or any labels at all.  She wishes she knew who has the audacity to decide who is put into one box and who into another.  As it seems, being good is merely a concept, not a fact.  However, it does have means to justify one’s actions. 

Neither sides should be seen in a generalised way.  There are truly twisted, truly evil, truly manipulative people among the “evil” ones, but there are people who are merely too desperate, too broken, too lost to earn the title of “good” , no matter what they have done in their lives up until that point.  She supposes the “good” side must be this differenced too, even if she can’t recall anybody who would constitute as truly “good” at the top of her head.  This is one of the reasons she hates and detests this black and white way of seeing the world.  Evil isn’t born, it is made, and good isn’t born, it is declared.

Regina wishes her son would embrace more of this world’s values, she wishes he could see the beauty in having no labels or several at the same time, instead of him willingly accepting the values of Fairy Tale Land, where only two labels can exist, everything else is ignored or frown upon.

By this time her tears are once again running down her cheeks, she can’t stop herself to think about what ifs and circumstances.  Henry didn’t even consider giving her a chance (not that she deserved one but still), until she told him she wants to redeem herself.  He was hurt, and so ready to jump to consequences, without a second thought.

And now that she thinks about it, despite everything she has done, he is still jumping to consequences, and ignoring whatever he doesn’t want to see.

She lifts her eyes to the sky, for a moment losing herself in the quiet beauty of a late autumn, starry evening, thinking back of the first time she witnessed this in this world.  Thinking back of the silent euphoria of a new beginning, of the lukewarm feeling of illusion that she finally could strip down all her past deeds, leave her tiring love-hate relationship with magic, and everything else that weights her down finally behind.

But her momentarily peaceful bubble is mercilessly blasted.  She simply can’t ignore the pain anymore.

The burning sensation on her skin, in her muscles, everywhere she came in contact with Gold’s curse, gradually and rapidly increases, until she has to let out a strangled cry of agony.  Her bones feel like a strong pressure is put on them from the inside out.  She feels something thick and warm run down her face, she doesn’t need to touch it to know what it is.  Its metallic taste has already told her that she is bleeding.

Frankly, she is frightened.  Her heartbeats become frantic.  She can’t do anything against _this_ , whatever this is...

Regina tries to stand up, her breathing becomes laboured.  The pain is white-hot, blinding everything out.  She doesn’t even notice that she is screaming.  She blindly takes a shaky step, but right at this moment her whole body is overtaken by cramps.  With a thud she falls ungracefully to her side.  The beginnings of some kind of seizure are already pushing on her rapidly fading consciousness.  She feels as her limbs begin to move in a frantic-jerking manner seemingly on their own.

Her last coherent thought before she blacks out is echoing in her mind:

_‘What have I done?’_


	2. Leaves, mirror and cracks

When Regina finally regains her consciousness, the first thing she notices is an immense blurry whiteness cruelly interrupted by darker spots.  Reality seems to be somehow _crystallised_.  Soft sunlight either glides over white edges, falls into its elements, birthing thousands of other colours; or gives into the alluring darker splinters, stumbling upon their harsh surface and losing itself in them.

Regina blinks slowly, forcing her lazy, lingering tears to fall down her cheeks, willing the world to finally come into focus.        
She sees... _fallen_ _leaves? ..._ their rather rounded form and slightly pointy end do seem familiar...  _Apple leaves_ , her hazy mind supplies.  However this just confuses her more... they are _somehow_ impossibly near to her face.  She stares more intensely at them most of them is covered in _hoar frost?_ ... not dissimilarly to the few blades of grass that poke out here and there among the heaps of fallen apple leaves...  ‘ _That explains the colours at least.’_  

She glides her tired gaze once more over the small scene in front of her, noticing more and more details, which hopefully means that her mind is finally beginning to fight off this strange foggy state it is in.  For a long moment she cherishes the soft sunlight, until a sudden, suffocating dread engulfs her.    
_Sunlight?!_   But her last memories are...  Yes, what are her last memories?  She closes her eyes, grits her teeth and forces herself to leave this _haze_ , this state of mind somehow behind. 

 _‘Henry...’_  
‘Henry calling Emma Swan “mom”...’        
‘They are back...’        
‘The portal...’   
‘Her son pleading her...’       
‘They are back...’        
‘A door closing... and she is alone... left behind once again...’             
‘Not enough...’            
‘Never enough...’        
‘Her son abandoned her...’   
‘Alone, alone, alone...’          
‘Henry...’          
‘Loneliness, longing, despair, love, desire to prove herself... an ocean trying to swallow her...’    
‘Her apple tree...’        
‘The well...’      
‘Henry...’          
‘The well...’      
‘The colour green...’   
‘It hurts, burns...’         
‘The well...’      
‘The well.’        
‘The well.’        
  


_‘What have I done?’_

Her last thought is still echoing in her mind, as she frantically wrenches her eyes wide open, she feels as cold panic begins to cruelly lick on her consciousness.  Only now she manages to piece together that the soft sunlight means, it’s after sunrise.  But her last memories... when _it_ happened she was sitting at her tree, it was dark around her, by that time the sun had already set.  She is lying on her side, by her apple tree... where she has apparently spent the night...  Outside.  In Maine.  In late autumn.  She groans.

Slowly, she turns to lie on her back, everything aches and she is incredibly stiff.  Finally she manages.  For a long moment she just stares at the sky, despite everything marvelling at the sunlight.  And now that she thinks of it... there is something _different_ about her sight...   
_‘Get up.’_            
Gradually all her sensations come back, the numbness caused by the cold slowly lifting.  She groans.  
_‘Get up.’_            
Shivers run up and down her tired and battered body.  Only now she notices just _how cold_ she is.  She tries to push this thought in the back of her mind this or a possible pneumonia is really the last of her concerns now.           
_‘Get up.’_            
She knows a “mere” electrocution wouldn’t have caused _this_... whatever seizure she has had last night.  As a result her biggest problem now is of magical origin.       
_‘Get up.  Cold.’_             
Systematically, she begins to gather everything her body is ready to tell her.  _So cold_...  Her eyes ... what is _wrong_ with her sight?  The colours, the world seems to be _different_...  She can’t quite grasp it, so she moves on, for now.  Her limbs are still cramped, but she isn’t sure if it is because of her unintended night spent under the late November sky, or because of her seizure.  All her muscles seem to hurt.   
_‘Get up.’_            
At least it isn’t the searing pain from yesterday.  This one she can manage, last night’s episode on the other hand...  Shivers run down her spine just at the mere thought of it happening once more.    
_‘Get up.  So cold._ ’      
Similar is the situation with the burning skin on her arms, she still feels it, but right now it’s a dull throbbing, nothing more.     
_‘Get.  Up!’_          
Finally, giving in, she gingerly begins to move.  Extremely slowly she sits up, waits for a long moment for the sudden dizziness to pass then she moves her legs, gritting her teeth to not cry out.  She takes a few deep breaths, preparing her battered body.  With a last, slightly fearful intake of air she stands up.  And immediately stumbles, losing her balance, catching the trunk of her beloved apple tree in the last moment, so she doesn’t fall right back.  For now. 

She tries to concentrate on her body, because she wants to ignore the lingering dread in the back of her mind.  This time, she has _no idea_ what she has gotten herself into.  What this could mean or even what _this_ is, what is happening to her.  And frankly, this frightens her even more than she is ready to admit.  Desperately, she fights off the increasing feeling of dread.  Regina Mills has never known the fear of the unknown into this depth before in all her life.

_‘Just what was I thinking?  Even if it would have been a “simple” electrocution, even then I could have died.  But no, I had to magically electrocute myself, I had to absorb all that magic into my own body. I have no idea what I have unleashed upon myself.’_

When her stubbornness deems that she is able to get back in her house, she slowly begins to drag herself, yes, for once in her life she is incapable of moving gracefully.  It is difficult, she stumbles and almost falls several times even in this short distance, but at the end she finally reaches the backdoor.

After several tries she unlocks it, and “rushes” as fast as her battered body allows her in the nearest bathroom with a body length mirror.

For a long moment she just stares at her own reflection, absolutely horrified.       
Then she frantically begins to remove her clothing, not caring at all if she ruins the expensive fabric.  When she is finally naked, she stares at the tiles, trying to gather herself, trying to scrap together all her strength, however how small amount that might be, because she knows, _now_ , to face _this_ , she is going to need everything she has got.  Only, she can’t find anything left in herself. Not anymore.

So she lifts her eyes slowly.           
Taking everything in...

Then she begins to laugh, loud and shrill, the sound cutting the deafening silence around her like the sharpest blade.  She laughs, because she can’t do anything else.  She laughs and it would turn into sobs if she had any tears left.

She meets her own eyes in the mirror... and faints.  
This time because of shock, fear and no small amount of despair.

Regina’s naked form is lying on the light coloured tiles, she is unconscious and seems so small like never before.      
And the world, as always, goes on, without her, leaving her alone, behind, once again.

 

*                                                      

 

Emma Swan stares up at the ceiling of the living room in Mary Ma-... no, _Snow_ ’s flat.  She is lying on the couch, because Henry is sleeping in her room.  She is motionless apart from the occasional movements of her eyes.

For several hours she has been observing the ceiling, paying attention to the last smallest detail, never even noticing the changing colours, the new beginning of a day.                
She is absolutely overwhelmed and frankly slightly terrified too with the new developments in her life.  Emma has no idea how to even _begin_ to deal with... well, apparently _everything_. 

The cracks on the ceiling give her the illusion of some kind of normalcy, so she stares at them.

Among the pieces of her shattered reality - that she is still trying to somehow glue together - she feels extremely small.  She can’t seem to get enough air into her lungs, ever since this _madness_ at Henry’s hospital bed has begun.  Only, she can’t seem to grasp not even one piece of her old reality to hold onto, let alone two.  She has no idea of who she is anymore.  Everything she knew was gradually stripped from her, leaving behind a desperate shell of a woman, who is trying to do the right thing, even if the world crumbles around her.  Reality seemingly ceases to exist, and as such, the meaning of right blurs too.  Since the break of the curse she learned to fear the unknown that may await her at the next corner.  She despises herself for this, but she can’t help it. 

_‘No, don’t go there.  Cracks, simple, normal everyday cracks.’_

She is terrified, somehow feels six years old again, once again at a new-faceless-nameless place, people-never-seen-before, always-so-much-taller-than-her surround her.  Everything is changed, new, nothing she could recognise and find some solace in its familiarity.  She is trembling in a dark room, afraid of what might lurk in the shadows.  She wants to crawl in the wardrobe, to hide from the eyes, from this new-place.  There, in the wardrobe she at least could get to know the space with her hands running on the wooden walls, her breathing breaking the silence, shooting her.  No surprises.  Nothing new.  No unknown.

But, she isn’t six anymore, nor an angry teenage girl breaking rules, and she certainly isn’t the restless young woman who would run, leaving everything behind.  _No_ , if she is honest with herself, she still feels the need to run, and she _would_ do it, but now, for the first time in her adult life she _can’t_...  And in the same time, she has absolutely _no idea_ what to do, how to act instead of running. 

After her time in jail, she owned up her wrongs, months spent in self-searching and after _Henry_ in self-loathing and regret, she vowed that she would get a grip on her life, stand on her own two feet, never relying on anybody, find her strength in her independence and still try to be a halfway decent adult.  Someone, whom a hopefully happy little boy somewhere would never be ashamed of.

But now, she has no idea who she is and everyone wants something from her.    
Tall figures lurking around her, wanting her to accept everything, even her role that is forced upon her.  Wanting her to learn to suddenly accept _and_ cherish concepts like family, responsibility that comes with heritage...

_‘Fuck, cracks, cracks on the ceiling.’_

She feels like she is thrown into deep water, certainly not a new development in her life, but now the difference lies in the people around her.  They are not shouting or threatening her anymore.  No, with this familiar pressure she could deal with.  But she has no idea what to do with the velvet force of smiles, expectant – dare she say sometimes _admiring? -_  looks, implied responsibility that comes with something as fragile as blood.  And not to mention the nauseating fact that all in all this is wrapped up in a suffocating false-understanding, false-patience.  Because at the end, _they_ have no idea what is it like to be in her situation now.  Far too often _their_ caring comes off as patronising.  Atop of everything, Henry began to call her _mom_.  Which is not only terrifying but wrong too, feels every time like a slap.    
She is confused, angry, frightened, angry, desperate, angry... and sometimes she wishes, she has never found this town, or anybody else in it.

_‘Cracks, cracks, cracks, ceiling, ceiling...’_

Cracks are safe.  From cracks can’t crawl people out who are smiling at her _accusingly_ , silently shouting at her, throwing words like family in her face.  Cracks in the ceiling don’t turn best friends into one’s own mother, or a man that she had no respect for to suddenly one’s own father.  Behind cracks on the ceiling can’t hide another world, another realm trying to swallow her up.  Cracks on the ceiling can’t spew out women who are capable of groping one’s lungs searching for one’s frigging heart!  Cracks on the ceiling don’t whisper “mom”...

So cracks on the ceiling are safe.    
On Mary Margaret’ ceiling, also known as Snow, who also is...

_‘Fuck!’_

She _has_ to get out of here.  _Now_.

She hastily pulls up her only pair of loose fitting jeans, her thank top, forgoes her boots and jacket, because she doesn’t want to be reminded about her time... _there_... she doesn’t need that too right now, so she grabs a pair of sneakers and a jumper.

A hurriedly written note later Emma Swan is gone.  
The sound of the closing door still echoing behind her while everyone else in the flat sleeps on.

 

*

 

For the second time that day Regina regains her consciousness.  But this time around her mind is clear, and she can instantly recall everything to a point of almost painful manner.

Her situation is... well, best deal with things first that she _knows_ , she can help.  As a result her logical mind practically launches itself of attending her smaller problems.  Of course, by doing so she ignores the bigger picture that she can’t even grasp how to _address_ , not to mention how to solve. 

‘ _Well, if there is anything salvageable at all_.’  She bitterly thinks.

The tile under her face is still cold, her body didn’t have the time to warm it up, so she mustn’t have been out for that long.  She slowly gets up, mindful of her still cramped up body, carefully avoiding any looks at the mirror.  She opens the taps, drawing herself a scalding hot bath.  She goes in the kitchen, preparing a big mug of wild thyme tea, sweetening it with honey.  She gingerly drags herself back to the bathroom, ignoring the pain and concentrating on the light brown liquid in her hands.  She shudders as she notices the difference between her vision now and _before_.  The almost golden brown colour seems to be somewhat... _sharper?_ ...the light dancing in the surface somewhat more... _colourful?_   She shuts her eyes for a moment, trying to ignore everything that this could mean.

She slowly sinks in the water and sighs gratefully.  At least she can do something against the possible cold or pneumonia, and as it turns out the warm water helps ease her cramped up muscles too.

Regina is extremely careful not to think of the situation or dare she say condition she is in.  But her mind keeps turning to Henry, and what this could mean for him.  Gradually, without her notice silent tears begin to fall down her face, dropping in the water as she nearly robotically sips her tea.

 _‘Maybe it’s for the best that this happened.’_ She chuckles bitterly _.  ‘It doesn’t matter.  Nothing really matters anymore.  It’s already done, and I have to make the best of it_.  _Because despite everything, I am still the Queen and a mother.’_

After she feels she is warm enough, she drowns the water, steps out of the tube and with still weak, small steps but with an immense determination she walks up to the mirror, once again.

Pressing her palm against the cold damp surface, she clears it, so she can see herself from the waist above.   
Her reflection is just like it was the first time she looked at herself this morning.  But it reveals two significant differences from what it has been _before._  

 _‘Well, at least the burning sensation on my arms and my changed vision is somewhat explained.’_ She allows herself an ungraceful snort in the solitude of her bathroom.

Her underarms, where the most intense exposure to the curse was, are covered in light red marks from obviously magical origin in a particular shape.  They resemble tendrils bearing several runes and leaves.  They run in a seemingly aimless manner around her arms, slicing through the olive tone of her skin.  Almost like a tattoo.  The thought alone, to somehow mar her own perfect skin would be revolting to the former queen any other day, but this, this means something entirely different.  And unwillingly she has to admit that the motifs were rather nice to look at, if she wouldn’t suspect what exactly is behind them.  She supposes that the patterns will spread if she is going to get more of these seizures, their colour slowly turning darker, gradually covering her whole body.  And then... she doesn’t want to think about _that_.  She _can’t_ think about that.

She lifts her head to stare into her own eyes.  Small bright green spots cruelly tear the familiar brownness apart, their colours reflecting the exact shade of green like the curse’s that was put upon the well has been.  It’s almost similar to the situation when she used her mother’s book.  Her eyes are telling her that there is foreign magic in her, that she isn’t using her own, the one that she was born with.  _Like she hadn’t already known that_.  However, emphasis is on _almost_ similar.  Now, the green is smaller, not ever-encompassing like the purple was, but she supposes this too, similarly to the marks on her arms, will spread if she is going to get more seizures.  She doubts that this change in colour is constant though, she can already see a few of them fade back to brown.  What concerns her more than she cares to admit is the change that this switching back to the original colour could cause.  She already knows that while the green is there, her vision, how she perceives colours and light, is more vivid, almost disturbingly so, and she dreads what kind of repercussion this is going to have.

She tiredly turns her head to look out the window.    
Right now, she can’t do anything but wait and see what permanent damage has been done, apart from the already obvious marks on her arms.  Right now, she can’t do anything but gather her strength for later, so she slowly walks upstairs into her bedroom, crawls under her covers and closes her eyes to succumb to sleep.

Her last thought somewhat calming her:

_‘At least I can hide these changes easily.  For a while.’_


	3. About Steps and Light

Emma Swan hurries down the street, the heels of her sneakers squeaking on the pavement, her movements as purposeful, as care- and graceless as always. 

She feels slightly unnerved, not wearing her usual armour against the world.

Despite the relatively early hour, to her disappointment she can see several people out and about.  She tries not to draw attention to herself, keeping her head down, lengthening her strides.  Nevertheless, wherever she goes murmured or maddeningly cheerfully stated “Saviour.”, or worse “Good morning Princess” follows her like a disgusting swarm of black flies.  Whenever she hears those two words, she feels like she has been hit.  The air around her seemingly becoming thinner the more time she spends among friends, acquaintances turned into absolute strangers.  Strangers who look up at her, who feel the need to celebrate her somehow.  Strangers who always want something from her.  Their simple look is enough to increase Emma’s feeling of being trapped, that there is no running away, not this time, and apparently not ever.  Their eyes are a constant reminder that _this_ has become her reality.  It doesn’t matter that she can’t deal with it.

She was thrown in the middle of this sea of mess, and now she can’t do anything else, but keep on struggling.  She _has_ to stay on the surface she _has_ to avoid the currents that could rip her into the deep.

However, regardless what she is doing, she feels herself slowly but surely sinking.  
Mary Margaret was her best friend, Emma loved her as such, and she grew to love Snow as well during their time _there_.  But she still misses her friend, and she still has no idea how exactly she could or should act around her newly-found _mother_.  She is confused like never before.  And she is angry, a slightly bit disappointed even.  Especially in her _father_.  David Nolan wasn’t a man she had high regards of, and she knows nothing of James (is this even his real name?), not counting the tales about how “bravely” he has fought for his one true love.  It bothers her beyond belief that she doesn’t know anything at all about him _as a person_ , well, apart from his bravery and his ability to take on sacrifices, or so she has been told. 

To top everything else, she can’t shake the feeling just how _bizarre_ she finds this concept of “one true love”.  Yes, she understands, or at least she believes she does, what an importance true love can hold in a fairytale.  But for her own experience, the 28 years she has lived in this reality, for her view of world something like this is extremely foreign, unreal even, which of course she tries to hide for the shake of others. 

She recalls last night at Granny’s among her... _family and friends,_ how she looked on with a silent, fascinated mortification as Snow and David (?) ceased to be individual persons, and became _them_.  They weren’t Snow and James (?) anymore, but a faceless couple, who merely embodies “true love”, whose symbiosis –judging by the way they were observed and smiled at by the people around them - must be celebrated.

Emma’s ears were still ringing from the hundredth declaration of “I will always find you”, as she swept her gaze over the other occupants of the room, recognising once again just how different her reality is from theirs.  So as an attempt to anchor herself somehow she embraced Henry more tightly, giving him all her love in this silent way.  Because at the end, he is the reason why she is willing to fight for a _new_ reality, why she isn’t running away.  In some way he truly is her anchor.    
Well, until he utters the dreaded word mom.

Emma aimlessly roams the streets, her anger slowly fades, only confusion and no small amount of fear stay, her newly-found and already constant companions.          
It would be so easy to blame somebody for this mess her life has become.  And truth be told, she has already done that, but directing her frustration and anger at Regina won’t help her to cope with reality, make her stronger, or less insecure.  It merely gives an easy way out, something to concentrate on instead of dealing with her actual issues.

Her feet rhythmically slap against the pavement, she is purposefully making an even bigger noise than usual in a vain attempt to drown out the seemingly constant “Saviours” or “Princesses” hurled in her way.

Emma concentrates on her breathing, eyes still strictly directed at the ground in front of her, and she tries to sort out her thoughts.

Surprisingly, she isn’t angry at Regina, disappointed and slightly mortified yes, but not angry.  After all, she still doesn’t know her whole story, and she has no idea, how she would have acted in her stead.  Probably not like the Evil Queen did, but still.  Henry told her that his mother is trying to redeem herself, and apparently she was the one who enabled them to come back at the end and that -...

“Good morning Princess!  How are you today?  Good to have you back!  Would you mind telling me in which condition our home is?  Is it liveable?  Does it look as lush and beautiful as it once was?”

The burly man steps up to Emma, with each question he comes closer, until he is blocking her way.  She has never seen him before, the trusting, hopeful look in his eyes seems to suffocate Emma.  She can’t even pay attention, what he is talking about, she catches just a few of his words.  _Princess, our home, liveable_.  He is towering over her, demanding in his sugar-coated way from her to take responsibility, to act, to _be someone else who she isn’t._   Or not yet, at least.

The familiar cold grip of panic slowly conquers her consciousness.  Her insecurities, her fears are coming to the surface, and she can’t do anything to rein them.  She knows she is pale, her hands clammy.  If she were six, she would run and hid in the closest wardrobe.  Sadly, she can’t do that anymore, so she mumbles something incoherent, moves to the side and with frantic steps hurries away.

 _‘Right foot, left foot.’_  
‘Puddle – jump over it.’  
‘Left.  Right...’  
Distance helps.  It always has.    
When she feels safe enough, she tentatively looks around.  She needs a place where she can be herself, no matter how shattered she now feels, she wants to be herself for a little while, without looks of false understanding, without expectations, without velvet covered demands.

She exhales slowly, an idea coming to her mind and she begins to walk up the street, her strides determined and purposeful once again.

 

*

 

Regina wakes up because she is so unbelievably cold.  For a moment she is disoriented, but then everything comes rushing back.    
And for the first time in twenty-eight years she considers to just pull her blanket over her head, and hide in the comfortable darkness for a while, pretending that reality doesn’t exist.

But of course her iron will won’t allow her such a pathetic moment of weakness, so despite barely having slept for three hours she opens her eyes...       
... and shuts them immediately with a painful groan.

 _‘Well, now I know what happens when the green recedes._ ’

Or so she suspects that this is the reason why her eyes have suddenly become extremely sensitive to light. 

‘ _At least the skin on my arms isn’t burning anymore.’_  

She supposes the marks must have changed too, but she won’t know this for certain until she opens her eyes and inspects them carefully.  If only the mere thought of exposing them to the light wouldn’t frighten her so much.

However, she is a queen, she lived through worse, and she knows she will survive this too. 

‘ _In the immediate future at least_.’ 

So she slowly opens her eyes, hissing at the stabbing pain, gingerly gets out of her bed, mindful of her protesting limbs, goes to the window and draws the curtains, letting only a small space for the light to fall in.

She sighs contently since the darkness, the dimmed sunlight seem to be a balm for her eyes.  She looks around her room, noticing that her vision is normal again.  Her perception of the colours isn’t that vivid anymore, and the sharpness of the world around her seems to be faded too.  Everything looks normal.  Well, _almost_ normal.

She pads to the mirror in her bathroom, drawing the curtains on her way, only slightly hesitating to switch on the light.  At the end with a grateful hum she notices that as long as the artificial light is dim, the stabbing pain doesn’t return.      
She slowly looks up, meeting the familiar brownness of her eyes, she can’t find any lingering trace of that magical shade of green anymore.  The green colour of the curse seems to have been vanished, leaving only curious memories of strange vividness and a state of extreme light sensitivity behind.  Regina is already dreading what might happen if she gets another seizure, if during that episode her eyes are going to turn totally green.

She steels herself, straightening her posture, meeting her eyes in the mirror once again.  She won’t allow herself to wallow in self-pity, or be paralysed by fear of the future.  Now she has to plan, while she still can.  She has to decide how she is going to act.

She walks back to her room.  As she is disrobing she notices that the marks on her arms are indeed darker.  This concerns her, and in the same time strengthens her decision to thoroughly research her condition.  She forgoes her usual attire, opting for being warm.  Besides, she isn’t planning to leave her house today, and it isn’t like she is expecting any kind of company.  So she puts on a pair of designer jeans, a warm but stylish blue sweater, and thick wool socks.

Regina gingerly descends the stairs, carefully closing the curtains wherever she can, leaving only narrow slits for the light to fall in, because she doesn’t want to be in total darkness.  She would rather endure the pain for a few moments than have her most dreaded memories to resurface.

She forces herself not to think about anything else, but preparing her breakfast.  Since she can’t dim the sunlight enough in the kitchen, she grabs her bowl of fruit salad and mug of tea and pads to the pleasantly darker living room.

As she is slowly eating her fruit, piece by piece, she begins to gather her thoughts.

Firstly, she has to research her condition.  She highly doubts that she is going to find anything, but nevertheless she has to try.  She suspects to what end these types of magic induced seizures, not to mention the marks and her eyes are leading.  As a result, she has to make plans for the worst case scenario as well.

She won’t tell a soul what is going on with her that is certain.  She doesn’t need or want anybody’s pity or declaration that she deserved this.  Obviously, Henry can’t know about her condition.  And as much as it is going to pain her, she has to talk to Emma Swan, to ensure that the bothersome woman is going to take good care of Henry.

And in the remaining time she has to reconsider her promise to her son.  She doesn’t want to break it, but by now it’s obvious that the path she has been on so far isn’t going to work, this can’t be the solution.  Not to mention that she simply won’t be able to fight against herself on so many levels at the same time.  She can’t deny anymore who she is, she is going to have to embrace and accept herself, if she truly wants to fight against her condition.  However how frightening that accepting herself is going to be.  Even if this means that she has to embrace her own magic that she was born with.  Denying or not using her magical abilities feels like binding up a limb to never use again.  Truth be told, she doesn’t understand, why she is the only one who shouldn’t do magic at all, why aren’t there general restrictions, rules for magic users?  What about the Dark One or the Blue Fairy?  Shouldn’t their magic be controlled as well?  She knows she is biased, but still.

She muses about her love-hate relationship with her own magic, and what she has done so far against it, since it has been returned to her.  She came to realise in the last few days that the problem doesn’t lie in using magic itself, but in the _goal_ she wants to achieve with magic, and in the _when_ she is using it.  She hates that she loves the power that it gives her, she hates that she is almost addicted to this, and she hates that this power is able to so easily corrupt her mind and soul.  She went off the road, abused her power.  In this regard, she has been weak all her life, she let her emotions rule her, this _has_ to change she knows it.  But the way Henry or the Cricket demand from her isn’t going to work, especially in her current condition.

A sudden knocking on the entrance door interrupts her thoughts.    
She is tempted to just simply ignore it, but what if something happened to Henry?  So she stands up and slowly walks to the door, straightening her back, forcing herself to regain her usual regal posture.  By the time she reaches the door the first hesitant knocks turn into a constant, impatient rattling noise.  Naturally, even before Regina opens the door, she is mildly annoyed at whoever stands on the other side.

She swings the door wide open, takes a deep breath to remind the rude soul what exactly could be the drawbacks of angering the former Evil Queen...

...but the sudden exposure to the mid-morning sunlight stops any kind of coherent thoughts, her anger evaporates nothing else is left but the burning pain in her eyes.  She barely manages to avoid a painful groan leaving her mouth, she presses her lips together biting down hard on her bottom lip, squints her eyes and looks up at the blurry figure in front of her.  But it’s too bright and the person is too pale, their hair is of light colour too.

“Are you hung-over Regina?”

The voice however is unmistakable.  ‘ _Just what I needed.’_

“No, Miss Swan, I am merely high on the amount of endorphins your presence seems to set off.”  The sheriff has in Regina’s opinion many faults, but sadly not being observant is not one of them.  Suddenly she is extremely glad that her sweater covers her arms and the marks too.

Emma Swan stares mutely at Regina for a long moment.  Regina is squinting.  Her eyes are blood-shot, teary, and strangely _unfocused_.  She is unusually pale.  However, Emma has enough common sense not to mention anything to her.  Well, apart from her first smart-ass remark that somehow managed to slip out.

Regina opens the door wider, mutely inviting Emma in.  Emma once again pretends that she doesn’t hear the small, grateful sigh that leaves Regina’s lips as soon as the door is closed and the house is once again covered in unusual semi-darkness.

“To what do I owe this particular... _pleasure_ , Miss Swan?”  Regina asks dryly as they walk to the drawing room.

Emma doesn’t say a word.  For a moment she just enjoys that right now she is simply Emma Swan.  The colourful adjectives the former mayor might associate her with, and Regina’s sarcasm are surprisingly _refreshing_.  Emma supposes that this might prove just how miserable she has become.  But she couldn’t care less what it tells about her that she is seeking out Regina Mills of all people to feel some kind of normalcy.  Right now she even enjoys the snarky woman’s sarcasm, it is much more welcome than the brainless adoration she is subjected to nowadays.  What she doesn’t deserve anyway at the first place, or so she feels.  She simply can’t wrap her mind around words like birthright, blood and family responsibilities -...

Her long silence seems to worry Regina.  She interrupts Emma’s musing in a slightly alarmed tone.  
“Is Henry alright?  Did something happen to him?  Why d-...”

“He is fine Regina.”  Emma cuts her off rudely as she carelessly flops into the couch.  She curiously regards Regina, her movements are unusually stiff by her own standards too.  Mild annoyance flashes on Regina’s face, but then her mask slips back on, she becomes once again unreadable.  Emma notices that her eyes are clearer and she isn’t squinting anymore.  However, she is restless, there is a strange kind of tension radiating off from her, and Emma is sure she doesn’t even know that every now and then she softly tugs at the arms of her sweater.  
Almost as if she were -...

Before she can ask anything, Regina sits down in front of her and with a politician’s calculating, distanced tone asks:  
“Why are you here, Miss Swan?”

Emma fumbles for words, reasons, because she can’t tell the truth, and true to herself, she didn’t think of a good cover story, she was that concentrated on getting here.  
“I just...  You know, thanks for yesterday.” 

Her ever so eloquent answer makes Regina’s eyebrow twitch.  Probably any other human being would have rolled their eyes in her stead.  
“I do believe we have already established this.”  She sniffs at last.

Emma once again doesn’t say anything else, she just observes Regina with her intense, curious green eyes.  When Regina actually _fidgets_ , however how slightly, she knows something is very _wrong_ here.  Despite her better judgement Emma takes a deep breath, and for once in her life she thinks through how to voice her questions, without extremely enraging the former Queen.  However Regina again cuts her off even before she can say anything.

“Miss Swan, I am aware that we have several issues to talk about, find an agreeable solution for Henry’s sake, but now I must ask you to leave, since neither of us seems to be in the right frame of mind to approach such important matters with even the slightest hope of a beneficial, productive outcome.”

Regina looks at Emma sternly, her cold eyes clearly conveying the message: _don’t you dare_.  So Emma swallows back her questions.       
“Whatever you say, Madam Mayor.”    
Regina’s eyebrow twitches again, but she doesn’t say anything else, aside from:  
“I trust you can show yourself out, dear?”, with the most insincere smile on her face.

Emma once again stares at Regina for a long moment.  She seems even paler now. So without further arguments, she stands up, nods at her and walks out of the room.

As soon as Regina hears the front door closing, she lets out a shaky breath and stands up, she has research to do after all.            
Only now she notices that her hands are trembling, her forehead is slowly covered in cold sweat.  By the next exhale something warm is running down her face.  She frantically lifts her hand... and yes, her nose is bleeding.  Her skin begins to burn on her arms.

Her last fearful thought is:   
_‘Already?  Impossible!’_  
... before she passes out with a loud thud on the hardwood floor, the next seizure claiming her whole body and mind.


	4. A Bench and the Alarm

Emma has no intentions to obey the mayor.  – ‘ _Or is she the former mayor now?’_   It doesn’t really matter, somehow the naturally authoritative and confident air around Regina prevents Emma to think of her as a mere... citizen, she supposes.  As a result the former Queen will always be The Mayor for Emma.  
_‘Until she has a new title, that is.’_

For a moment she muses, if her life isn’t difficult enough without purposefully angering Regina, but then she shrugs her new found conscience off.  It certainly doesn’t do any good for her to spend this much time with Snow White.  Even if said fairytale character is one’s mother.  This thought instantly makes her cringe.  She still isn’t used to the radical changes in her life.  And on a more childish level maybe she is in denial too.  Emma doesn’t know this for sure, and she certainly doesn’t want to deal with this, that was the reason why she crept out of that flat this morning after all.

Besides, it’s not like she is disobeying Regina’s _request_ per se, she is merely freely interpreting, what the Mayor simply _implied_ , she did leave the house...  She snorts in a very un-ladylike manner imagining Regina’s reaction to this particular justification.  But then her mood almost immediately darkens.

Yes, she doesn’t want to go back _there,_ where she knows the cracks on the ceiling so well, where she-...  ‘ _No.  Don’t!’_   Emma takes a deep breath and forces her mind to safer topics.  She worries her lower lip, her eyebrows are furrowed when she glances back at the imposing white house over her shoulder.

Fact is that the years spent in the foster system thought Emma to listen to her gut, and now her gut says that something is _extremely fishy_ with the Mayor.  She recalls how sensitive Regina seemed to be to the light, how different – absolutely un-Mayor-ly she looked, how pale she was, and worse she was getting even paler in the short period of time Emma spent in her house.  Regina’s almost unnoticeable fidgeting and unconscious pulling on the arms of her pullover made Emma just believe even more in her theory.  Because if a woman of Regina’s calibre, with her experience _both_ as queen _and_ as politician, with decades of controlling her body language, well if she happens to fidget it’s almost as alarming as someone else’s scream.

So yes, Emma might have snatched two thick blankets in Regina’s hallway on her way out, and yes she might have stopped to listen carefully if the Mayor followed her, however today of all days Regina refrained from showing her out. 

Which leads Emma to her current predicament.  She is stealthily, using all her experience as a former thief, sneaking across Regina’s yard towards the infamous apple tree, she reaches the bench standing a few feet away from the tree, and looks around one more time.  Still not seeing any sign of Regina, Emma carefully puts down her bounty.  Shame colours her cheeks slightly, as she lets her fingers run over the exceptional quality of the fabric.  She couldn’t even name it, even if her life depended on it.  She snorts in amusement once again, this small detail too is _so_ Regina. 

However, her merriment quickly fades.  Shame hits her again she even feels the need to justify her actions to herself.  ‘ _It’s not like I stole from her.’_   She unfolds one of the blankets and puts it on the bench.  ‘ _I am merely just borrowing.’_   She glances back at the house, there still aren’t any sounds coming from the mason, no indications at all what Regina is up to.  Emma once again feels the uneasiness settle down in her chest.  She lies down on the makeshift bed, and covers herself with the second blanket.  This isn’t the first time she sleeps under the free sky, she was a runaway as a teenager after all, but this time it is somehow different.  She nervously bites her lower lip as she thinks through all of the small oddities she picked up from Regina’s behaviour today.  If a person as secretive as Regina couldn’t prevent showing all these small signs, then there is something deeply wrong.  Plus experience shows several small things could add up to one big and most likely very ugly thing, if the troubled brunette is somehow involved in it. 

So yes, Emma feels she has a very legitimate reason to be concerned.  This time she is listening to her gut, not ignoring it, she stays close to Regina, she wants to be here until _it_ happens.  Because _something_ is bound to happen, Emma is sure of it.  But this time she is willing to stay in the middle of it instead of running from it.  This time there is a boy, who has faith in Emma, faith that she could protect him, faith that she is good, that she is capable of doing good.  Emma frankly has no idea how to be a mother, but she does know that she loves that kid, even if his affection scares her most of the time.  She would do anything to protect him.  And now apparently she is going to protect Henry’s mother too, after all she was the one, who made it possible that she could get back to him. 

Emma pulls her hood over her head, snuggles deeply in her blanket, closes her eyes and sighs contently.        
She doesn’t want to unleash the true extent of the _Evil Queen’s wrath_ upon herself, that’s why she obeyed Regina’s wishes and left the house, but she is willing to endure the _Mayor’s wrath_ , so yes, she stays in the brunette’s garden, for a few more hours just to be safe and just to be near if something did come up.  In a few hours she plans to talk to Regina again, maybe she is going to have more success next time, until then she is going to catch up on her sleep.

Emma closes her eyes and tries to ignore the small stray thought of killing two birds with one stone.  She tries to ignore that by practically camping out in Regina’s yard, she is avoiding going back to _that_ flat, avoiding meeting... the people who are related by blood to her.               
_‘Blood.  Family.  Responsibility...  Birthright.  Fuck!’  
_ She huffs annoyed at herself, pulls up the blanket over her nose, and snuggles up in it.  Her breathing slowly evens out, and in a few minutes Emma is sleeping soundly, never hearing the muffled sound of a body hitting the floor in the house.

 

*

 

A thoroughly disturbing noise violently cuts through the chilly, early afternoon November air over Storybrooke.  Its unnatural shrillness could effectively reduce anyone to a teary eyed, anxious mess, so it isn’t that much of a surprise, that Emma is practically scared out of her sleep _._ In her first fright she falls off of the bench, her arms flailing around her without any grace, her blonde hair tangled, or sticking up at odd angles, her heart is wildly beating, and she tries to fight her way out of the blanket as the disturbing noise repeats itself over and over again.  The shrill tones make her just even more afraid, she has no idea what the source of them possibly could be.  Finally, she finds her way out of the blankets, her mind begins to clear up the last remains of sleep, but the repeating, anxious and somewhat... _mechanical?_ ...sounds prevent her to form any coherent thoughts.

‘ _Shrill.  Mechanical.  Repeating.  Associated with fear...  Mechanical...  
Oh, fuck!’_

She significantly pales, and hastily crawls under the apple tree. 

‘ _Fuck my life!_   _Air_ _raid sirens in Storybrooke?  What the_ hell _is going on?!’_  

She fearfully looks up to the sky, but she can’t see anything, no fire, or smoke.  She carefully listens, but of course there isn’t any sound of planes zooming by, only the nerve-killing sirens creating a bizarre war-time atmosphere, somehow transforming the air into fear that one could choke on.

She waits a few moments but nothing changes, the sirens keep repeating their excruciating sound.  Emma glances back at the manor, Regina could be still in there, and she most likely could answer all her questions.  So with a final look around, Emma runs back to the house.  She can’t shake the feeling that _this_ is just the beginning of something really bad, and that things are about to turn downhill...  Emma barrels in the mason, barely managing not to take the entrance door off of its hinges.

“Regina!”  She frantically shouts, and begins to hastily walk down the hallway, without taking her sneakers or her jumper off.  “Regina?  Are you here?”  She turns to the left, since there are still no sign of Regina.  “Do you hear this?”  She walks into the study...  “What on Earth is this so-...”  ...and her voice trails off, as her eyes fall upon the small figure lying on the ground. 

She rushes forward, falling to her knees next to Regina, and fearfully extending her hand.  However, for a long moment it just hovers in the air.  Emma has never seen the normally so confident woman so... _fragile_ , or so _lifeless_.  She lies on her side, her arms sprawled out, the right one under her head, she is extremely pale, her eyes are shut, dried blood on her face, and on the floor in front of her.  Her mouth is hanging open slightly, in its corner a small amount of a white foamy substance.

“No, no, no!  Fuck!  Regina, no!”  Emma fearfully whispers, and her own voice snaps her out of her haze the same time.  Her hovering hand quickly reaches for Regina’s pulse, which is slow but steady.  This discovery of course makes Emma sigh in relief for a moment.  Then she promptly but gently grabs Regina’s chin, opening her mouth she puts two fingers in, feeling if there is anything blocking the airways, and feeling for any injuries.  She is still unsure if the blood on the floor is a result of Regina biting her own tongue too, or “merely” her nose bleeding.  She finds everything clear, she uncertainly moves Regina, bending one of her legs, stretching the other out, adjusting her hand better under her cheek, and stretching her other arm out.  Her eye fall on Regina’s phone, she debates if she should call the hospital.  But frankly, Emma isn’t that sure that anybody willingly would come to the former Evil Queen’s house, not to mention the fact that the strange alarm is still frighteningly and by now maddeningly active.  So she moves to check Regina’s eyes, pulling back one eyelid after the other...

“Oh my...  What have you done?!”  Emma dazedly whispers as she sees the obviously magical shade of green swirling in Regina’s eyes, mixing with familiar brown spots.  Now Emma knows for certain that this problem is of magical origin, and nobody in the hospital could help Regina, so there is nothing else but waiting for Regina to wake up.

Emma stands up, jogs to the couch, grabs the blankets she can find there and covers Regina with them.  She then goes to the nearest bathroom, takes a fresh towel and a bowl of warm water.  Back in the study she slowly, carefully washes down Regina’s face several times, cleaning her lips and the blood from and around her nose.  For a long moment she just holds the towel in her hand, but then shrugging she cleans the floor with the same towel.  It’s not like Regina is consc-...

“Miss Swan...”  Regina’s voice is extremely weak, but she still manages to sound somewhat reprimanding.            
_‘Shit.’_     
“Uhm... uh... Hi?”  Emma sheepishly tousles her own hair at the back of her head and awkwardly smiles down at Regina.  Regina’s eyes are just partially opened and still somewhat green.  Emma silently and curiously observes Regina as her expression slowly morphs into one of wonderment.  Regina doesn’t look nor stares down Emma, as she normally would.  She doesn’t even try to hide her obvious vulnerability behind lashing out, behind hurtful remarks.  And she doesn’t wear her usual mask of controlled anger or superior indifference.  Emma could almost read her.  By now Regina’s eyes are wide open, now Emma can see the green lingering in those deep brown irises, and to her utter bewilderment, Regina’s face is practically alight with the purest fascination.  Her eyes move around the room, falling on everything, seemingly taking in everything, it is almost like this is the first time in Regina’s life that she _really_ sees...

Emma _almost_ doesn’t want to interrupt this peaceful moment.  The sight of Regina looking at the world like a happy and utterly curious child, well it certainly is a one in a lifetime moment.  However, she has questions.

“Regina?”

Regina slightly lifts her head and her strange, green-brown eyes fall on Emma for the first time.  Her eyes widening even more, and now she is staring at Emma in absolute astonishment.  Without blinking.  Emma of course quickly blushes and begins to squirm, until finally she is so uncomfortable that she voices the first question that crosses her mind, without any second thoughts:

“What the hell happened to you?”  ‘ _Subtle much Swan?’_ She groans at her own clumsiness.

Regina immediately closes off, her face becomes devoid of all emotions, even looking into her strange coloured eyes doesn’t indicate anything what she might be thinking.  Emma is silently cursing herself. 

Regina moves to sit up as regally and gracefully as she can manage, she almost instantly turns paler, and Emma notices, that she winces as she moves her arms.

“Hey Madame, slow down, don’t get up yet -...”

Regina silences her with a mere look, and Emma for once doesn’t want to fight her.  Regina reaches up, slowly touching her cheeks, her eyes falling to the wet towel beside Emma’s hand, and to the blanket that still covers her somewhat.  For the briefest moment surprise crosses her features, she fleetingly looks at Emma, wordlessly nods once then proceeds to stand up.  Once she is standing, and seemingly the dizziness has passed, she clears her throat and in a still softer voice than usual addresses Emma.

“You are not to speak to Henry about this, under any circumstances, do you understand me, Miss Swan?”

Emma too slowly stands up, regarding Regina warily, wordlessly for a while, almost as if she were searching for something.  Regina’s menacing gaze is as effective, as always, however the glimpses of tiredness, and - dare she say – hints of fear, not to mention the still swirling green colour in her eyes, throw Emma off of guard.  Her observations coupled with the more than alarming request well, if nothing else, it is clear that Regina’s situation is extremely sever.  And if Emma wants to have any chance to understand it, or help even, if she can, well she has to trade carefully now.

As she is about to voice her question, Regina tilts her head, her gaze turned to a window, the shrill, mechanical sound of sirens is still dully echoing in the background.  Her eyes widen, worry crosses her features, and she moves towards the door, seemingly forgetting about Emma being there in the first place.

“What is this sound Regina?”

Regina turns back, clearly surprised by Emma’s question.

“You...?  You can hear it too?”  Before Emma could even finish her spectacular eye roll, Regina answers her own question.  “Of course you can.  _Spawn_ of true love, you have magic in you.”

“Excuse me, but this noise is enough to kill all small animals in the immediate vicinity of Storybrooke, why on earth wouldn’t I hear it, if I have a pair of fully functioning ears?!”  Emma huffs outraged.

“Oh, but that’s where you are wrong, dear.  This alarm could only be heard by persons with magical abilities.”    
Regina smiles that fake, politician smile of hers.  With that she turns on her heels, and walks out of the room, her movements as fluid and as graceful as ever.  Nothing indicates, apart from her eyes and her unusual paleness that she had to be unconscious for at least an hour, and until very recently at that.

Emma stares at her shoes for a long moment.  She is worried about Regina without a doubt.  In fact, she is fearful to admit, what everything that she got to know today could mean in the long run.  The disturbing request concerning Henry is still echoing in her mind.  She has no choice, she has to accept the stubborn woman’s apparent wishes.  She won’t ask her outright about her situation, or at least not right now.  However, until that happens she always could accompany her and learn more by observing.

“Wait up!  What alarm?  What do you mean?” She catches up with Regina at entrance door.  Regina stops, faces Emma and explains:           
“The wards around Storybrooke have been breached, of course.”

With that she turns around, adjusts her black coat and thick cashmere scarf and walks down the porch.   
“Close the door behind you, Miss Swan.”

Emma does as asked swallowing back her retorts and jogs up to Regina.  The brisk tempo Regina is dictating while striding down the street, makes Emma suddenly want to pat on her own shoulders for choosing a pair of sneakers and her only pair of baggy jeans.

“Wards?”

“Yes.  Did you honestly think we – as in the magical community here would let our town unprotected once the curse broke?”  Regina asks almost sweetly.

“Well, I haven’t thought of it actually...”  Emma trails off.

“Don’t blame yourself dear, it really is entirely your mother’s fault.  Who else would have found their one true love in Charming?  But I suppose your father must have other qualities that make up for his inability to uphold an intellectually inspiring conversation -...”

“Really, Regina?  You _had_ to go there?!”  Emma cuts her off.

“Oh, still not comfortable thinking about mommy and daddy having...”  Regina begins to say with a cruel smile.

“Enough!  Don’t... Don’t call them that!”               
If Emma’s angry hiss, the emotions swirling in her eyes, or her red cheeks surprise Regina, she doesn’t show it.  However, her eyes linger curiously for a while on Emma, and she does slow down her strides.  She obviously can see that she has pushed too far, but she merely nods instead of an apology, naturally.

Emma clears her throat uncomfortably.  She desperately wants to think about anything beside her f-... _them_.  She knows Regina is lashing out, because she saw her in a vulnerable state, but still, she won’t let Regina walk over her feelings like that.  She looks around nervously, she has no idea where they are heading, and the still echoing sounds of the sirens do nothing to get her less anxious.

“About the ward and the magical community...”  She trails off, she doesn’t know, how to ask, even after waking Henry up in the hospital, after the wraith incident, after her time spent in Fairytale Land, even after her face-off with Cora, she still is uncomfortable with speaking about magic. 

Emma uncertainly looks up at Regina and meets her strange green-brown eyes, once again reminding herself just how grave Regina’s situation is.  Regina appears even with all her practice in controlling her body language extremely tired, and for the first time Emma notices a deep underlying sadness in those eyes.  She has always known that the sometimes tyrannical older woman with all her anger, hatred and hidden angst must be broken too.  She just never had realised how much.  Every step they make down the street demands more and more from Regina. 

_‘Because of her condition?  No, there is something more...  Wait.  Wards, alarm, magic.  Not only her condition, but the possibility of facing her own mother too...’_

At this realisation Emma almost reaches out to stop Regina, tell her she should rest, but then...  If she were in her shoes, she would do the same.  Push herself again and again to her limits, because of... because of Henry _.  ‘Oh Regina.’_   Now Emma thinks she understands Regina, she has to do this, while she still can.

“Your mother is here, isn’t she?” She asks tentatively at last.

“Yes.”  They are silent for a long moment, neither of them knowing how to continue, until Regina ignores the topic, and extremely unusually for her begins to explain something else.

“The wards have three functions.  The first is repelling all outsiders from this world, not letting anybody in Storybrooke.  The second is detecting any portal jumpers from our old world, or any other world, this ward also alerts each and every magical person in Storybrooke if a portal jumper was detected.  Lastly, the third is to keep the jumpers at the exact place they tried to enter the town, until the magical community can get there and decide about their fate.”

“The magical community? Does this mean you worked with the good side together?”  Emma is gaping at her rather unattractively.

Regina actually rolls her eyes at Emma.

“Oh please, the fairies and the good side?!  Don’t base the way you see the world on Henry’s book or on your... on Snow White’s extremely questionable morals!  You are a grown up woman, who had an anything but sheltered life.  However how your parents would love to deny it, you are more than capable of making your own choices!”  Regina’s outburst leaves both of them speechless, both have a slight blush on their cheeks, albeit for different reasons.

Emma heard how Regina caught herself and used Snow White’s name instead of her relation to Emma.  Add to this the implied sentiments, Emma can’t help but give Regina a goofy smile.  Regina, trying to appear indifferent, just lifts her brow, perfecting an unimpressed mask on her face as a way to balance out her previous small speech.  At the end she says in a true Regina Mills fashion:

“Do hurry up dear, we wouldn’t want a fate-turning conflict play out without any amount of that infamous Charming heroism, which is always _very well_ hidden beneath thick layers of idiocy...”

Emma can’t help but smirk at Regina’s sass.  Because this is one of the reasons that help her feel normal.    
And yes, she is going to help Regina, however how difficult that might be. 

She lengthens her strides and catches up with Regina again.


	5. The Walk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't given up on writing stories. Not on any of them.  
> And I really wanted to update before this year ends as well.  
> I also dusted down the so far posted chapters.  
> Please note, that this story takes place immediately after 'Queen of Hearts', so the since then established facts (I confess, I had to chuckle applying this word to ouat) didn't happen.  
> Also, the story is planed out to the smallest details.  
> And lastly, I saw a few episodes from 3A, but I haven't watched the show since 3A ended, at all. I find the world of Oz scary, so I avoid it in all types of media. and I also lost my patience with the beard brigade and the showrunners years ago. All in all, I'm not the person you want to ask about current happenings on the show.  
> Have fun reading!

As they walk down the streets of Storybrooke the eerie, shrill sound of the alarm shatters any kind of illusions that they might have the luxury of dealing with one crisis at the time.

Emma has enough common sense not to tell Regina that she hears how her breathing gets more and more laboured, how she can’t help but notice Regina’s movements lack their usual gracefulness and fluidity. Regina still walks elegantly and her presence isn’t less commanding, but it’s almost as if sheer determination would push her forward.

Emma glances at Regina and if she weren’t already filled with dread just by having to listen to the never-ending, illusions-smashing sound of the breached wards; the lingering, magical green spots in Regina’s eyes, her usually warm, olive-toned skin turned into a sickly shade of grey, certainly would fill her with dread.

Frankly, Emma has no idea how to approach Regina’s strange condition. She knows it might be unwise to address this problem immediately before facing whatever dangers await them. Especially, that said danger is most likely clad in heavy, velvet gowns and is wearing patronising, bone-chilling smiles. On the other hand, if Regina were to collapse in the middle of a magical mud fight -or whatever else witches do when they establish dominance, well that situation would turn out highly uncomfortable for Emma and fast at that, to say the least.  
_‘However...’_  
Emma throws a calculated glance at Regina.    
_‘...if she would believe that she can’t fight this crisis, she would say something to me. After all, Henry’s safety is on the line too. Even more, this might be the only reason she is willing to fight in this condition_.’

Emma knows she is frowning as she watches how Regina’s brows become gradually more sweaty, how Regina’s mouth turns into a hard line, almost as if she were resenting her own body for daring to rebel against her will.

Hell, for all Emma knows, the pig-headed brunette might think just that. Emma sees, Regina clearly needs to stop to catch her breath, but she won’t say anything, because proposing something like this would equal with admitting defeat and weakness.  So it’s Emma’s turn to be less of a Charming, and not to charge into a situation headfirst, rather try to find two scheming cells in her.

Henry is her son, so she must have got this covered as well.  Right?  Wrong.  She can lie convincingly and play certain roles pretty well, as consequences of her pre-Storybrooke life, but to be completely honest, if it comes to Regina, she is in way over her head.  Regina would look right through her excuses or attempts to help her.  And she would be _furious_ with her.  Epically.  Like in Hulk-like way furious.  Except for the turning green part.  Although, as she glances again at Regina’s disturbingly green-brown eyes, even that might come true.  After all, her understanding of how magic works begins and ends with the simple sentiment: avoid those whatsitsname-hovering-dementor-like-shits.  And Fast.

At this moment Regina stumbles next to her, which brings Emma’s wayward thoughts to a screeching halt.

_‘We obviously have to get to… wherever we are supposed to go asap, but if Regina collapses on our way there, she won’t be much of a help, that’s for sure.  And then we are screwed.  Madam here badly needs a few moments to gather herself.’_

Emma glances at Regina, again.  Luckily she is walking about a pace away next to her, so Emma is still able to see her somewhat clearly.

 _‘Right.  That’s it!’_   Her idea doesn’t make her exactly comfortable, but she knows it will work.  _‘Screw my pride, this is Henry’s mom.  Who saved my life.  And she has already smelt and seen me at my worst, she was at the well yesterday, after all.’_

With this thought Emma stops and makes a show of patting down her pockets.   
She bites down hard on the inside of her cheeks in a vain attempt to control her screaming instincts that she mustn’t show any weakness that can be exploited by other kids, the foster parents or other strangers.

Not many people would notice this, but Emma Swan is a good observer.  Between listening to snippets of conversations about what they missed in Storybrooke last night in the diner during that awful welcome back party, and knowing Regina, the Mayor, a bit, she has a fairly good hunch that this is the only way that Regina would respond without frost or force and a minimal amount of sass.  
So she ignores her ingrained fears and pride.               
And makes a fairly convincing show of searching her pockets.

 

*

 

Regina is lost in her thoughts.  So much so that she doesn’t even realise, if she doesn’t regulate her breathing soon, she might face another seizure. 

She is deeply troubled, her concern for Henry, the uncertainty of her own future, old wounds that have been ripped open again in the last few days.  Everything just seems too much.  And she barely even wants to admit herself that she is beyond terrified of the prospect of facing her mother in over three decades the first time. 

She is so distracted that she is five steps ahead before she realises that Emma Swan isn’t next to her.       
Suddenly, her disturbing mess of feelings narrow down to a very familiar one that she can wield with ease: rage.         
And she has the perfect target, Storybrooke’s bothersome sheriff.

Regina turns slowly, nostrils flailing, lips pulled into a tight line, hands trembling, she hisses:

“Miss Swan!”

She takes a breath to no doubt insult Emma in her usual cruel but disturbingly creative way, only to notice how her breaths are too shallow and rapid, and that once again sweat is running down her forehead.  Her anger immediately forgotten, she frightfully lifts her hand to her nose.  Luckily, it isn’t bleeding, yet.  But she must control herself.  Fast, because she has to face her own mother for Henry’s safety.

Regina concentrates on relaxing her muscles in her arms.  She closes her eyes, begins to count, using techniques that she learned during the early days of her magical training, and pays attention to her breathing.  Once she calms down somewhat, she isn’t trembling anymore, her breathing slowly returning to normal, she opens her eyes.  And looks at Emma.  Who still appears to search for something in one of her apparently many pockets.

“Miss Swan?”  She asks with no small amount of misgivings, after all her son’s birthmother is notorious about having no finesse, and if she has any plans at all in delicate situations, they are always worthy.  Of a Charming.  The arrival of her mother in town is as delicate as it gets.  And Regina won’t let an already volatile situation escalate even more just because the Swan-sized thorn in her side barges in with a loaded weapon.  That is, if that’s what she is searching for at all.

Emma looks up at her, embarrassment colouring her cheeks.  And she immediately squints at Regina.

“I’m sorry, I just.  Uh…”  Emma is fumbling even more for words than usually, when she is particularly flustered.

 _‘So it’s something else then.’_   Regina curiously tilts her head to the side.  Her breathing is normal again, she notices relieved.  But her momentarily patience with Emma is wearing thin.

“Out with it, dear!  And do hurry up, we don’t exactly have all the time in the world.”  She crosses her arms on her chest and narrows her eyes at Emma.  She knows she looks intimidating.

Finally, Emma lets out a rather melodramatic grunt and pulls, of all things, a pair of thick-rimmed glasses out of her pocket.  Regina is surprised at first.  But then the squinting, Emma leaning closer to her than usually during their short conversations today do make sense.  She sees how Emma is playing with the earpiece of her glasses, how her cheeks slowly turn even redder, how she is biting her lips.

 _‘She is self-conscious.  Yet…’_   In a sudden realisation Regina understands, why Emma is doing this now, why was all this theatrics of searching for the glasses.  Emma is giving her time.  Well, stealing rather, but still.  She looks gratefully at Emma for a moment, but then averts her eyes quickly, Regina Mills doesn’t do grateful after all, and most of all, not with Snow White’s insufferable spawn.

Emma finally walks up to her and they continue down the street. 

“Hey!  Where are we going?”  Regina looks at Emma curiously, she is still holding her glasses in her hand.

“The harbour, dear.”  This road leads directly there but she refrains from pointing this out for Emma with a slightly scathing remark.  This once.

“Cool.  Yeah.  Ok.”  Emma’s babbling is so painfully awkward that Regina has to look at her again.  Emma manages to stumble in her own leg.  And Regina can’t help but notice, just how _awfully_ young Emma is.  Her atypical outfit today just emphasises this.  She wears a pair of loose fitting jeans, a size bigger hooded pullover and a pair of sneakers.  Regina would have never imagined it, but Emma did manage to appear even more graceless than usual.  She almost, _almost_ thinks back at the jacket-boots-tight pair of jeans outfit with nostalgia.  Atop of this, Emma’s hair is up in a messy, half-down bun. She obviously didn’t even bother with combing it, let alone properly drying it last night.  She must have fallen into bed.    
If Regina didn’t connect so many horrible memories with the Enchanted Forest, she might even be tempted to ask Emma, just what happened to her there that made her this weary. 

 _‘Or is there perhaps something else as well?’_   Regina muses.  _‘She did react curiously, when I taunted her with her parents.’_   She looks back at Emma again.  _‘Yes, she is so awfully young.’_   She remarks this without any kind of envy, but seemingly all the tiredness her body has ever felt.  _‘Just how are we to succeed?  But we must.  For Henry.’_   Her gaze on Emma hardens with determination without her noticing it.

And right at this moment, Emma finally puts on her glasses.

The surprised “Oh!” at finally being able to see that leaves Emma’s lips, almost makes Regina roll her eyes in slight desperation.  After all, this awkward creature is supposed to be her ally against her mother.  Now that she considers it again, desperation truly might be in order.

But then she thinks of Henry again, of his unwavering belief in Emma, of how the woman is full of surprises, and perhaps not everything is all as bad as it seems.  At the end, Emma could easily unleash all her infuriating and bothersome self at her mother, dividing her attention enough for Regina to have a chance against her.

She looks at Emma calculatingly, noticing, how she is still self-consciously playing with her glasses.  All the signs of an adult who has been mercilessly bullied because of them as a child is clearly visible for Regina.  And to her deepest astonishment, for a fleeting moment empathy flares in her.

Emma of course notices her looking and immediately says defensively:

“Hey!  You too would pick the hideous glasses after all the messed-up shit of the last weeks!  Try to run around the freaking Enchanted Forest for two weeks wearing the same pair of contacts, wetting them only with your saliva and still feeling like you are about to scratch your eyes out!  It’s worse than wearing the same panties for days!  But you still need them because either that or you could accidently stumble into the mouth of Voldemort’s hellbeast, or whatever other shit is lurking there!  So hell yeah, the first chance I got I took them out.  And I am sure as hell going to burn them once we kicked your mother’s ass back to Fort Rozz!”

Regina actually cringes at those two very much not-needed mental images.  Emma’s crudeness is rapidly reaching such a level of low in her eyes that it is slowly turning into something akin to acknowledgement, or dare she say almost-respect. 

She also reads between Emma’s lines and the obvious signs in the change of her apparel.  _‘She is distancing herself.  She had her armour, her usual cloths on there.  She doesn’t want any reminders, everything is still too raw, too close to the surfaces…’_   She glances at Emma and offers quietly:

“That has always been an awful place.”  Emma gapes at her wordlessly, she understands the sentiment behind Regina’s rather plain statement.  She is unnerved how despite everything someone could read her this well, and that someone is Regina Mills.    
As they look at each other, slowly an understanding passes between them.  That whatever happens, they are going to protect Henry from that world, its dangers and its distorted, illusionistic values.  They continue to walk wordlessly.

Regina looks Emma up and down, deep in thought.  She does recognise what Emma is doing for her.  Stepping out of her own comfort zone and chancing to be vulnerable in her company, just to keep her focused in the moment, on their upcoming battle.

Regina also remembers, how Emma did save her life, despite everything.  And that Henry apparently loves her very much.  However how painful that is for her to acknowledge.  So when Regina sees that Emma begins to play with her glasses in her self-consciousness, again, with an inaudible sigh she throws Emma Swan an inch.  That might or might not be interpreted as a leaf of the proverbial olive branch.

“Miss Swan, in this case it seems that it was an unusually well-considered choice on your part to bring your glasses along.”  She sees, she has surprised Emma.

“Well, gee, thanks, Regina.”  Emma frowns at her.  And Regina has a feeling, Emma doesn’t know how she should react.  _‘Deflection.  She is going to deflect.’_   She is mildly curious, just how well she can read Emma Swan.

“Should I see your half-hearted attempt at insulting me as a progress or you are just gearing up for something bigger?”  
What a pity that she isn’t a betting woman.  It truly looks like that between fights, trading insults and saving her life they somewhat did get to know each other.

“Nah, it doesn’t matter.”  Emma continues without needing her input.  “We are a team, and we are going to smack the biggest Patronus at your mother, now that I can make out the differences between her and a trashcan from more than 3 meters away!”  She grunts fake-confidently.

Regina rolls her eyes spectacularly, but she doesn’t answer her, they walk towards the harbour silently for a while.  The disturbing sound of the alarm is still unnerving, but that is its point why the magical community chose this sound.

Emma suddenly reaches out and lightly slaps Regina on her elbow once with the back of her hand.  Her eyes are wide, as if she suddenly realised something.  And this is the only reason why Regina doesn’t retaliate immediately for the rude and tactless breach of her personal space.  This doesn’t mean that her nostrils don’t flare in annoyance, or that the look she sends Emma’s way would not send a more self-preserving person for the hills.  Emma simply asks:

“How comes we are not driving or poofing or whatever to the harbour?  Aren’t the bad guys gonna run away and plot their devious plans in the shadows, until they are ready to conquer the world?”  She looks expectantly at Regina.  And Regina dearly hopes that Emma misses how she ever so slightly blushes.  However, despite her discomfort she answers Emma easily enough.

“I’m afraid, my car is displaced at the moment.  As for teleportation, magic works differently in this land, since it’s fairly new here in this form.  I am yet unsure how much energy a double teleportation would cost, as such I’d rather conserve it for the time when I am facing mother.  And lastly, dear, I did tell you how one of the functions of the ward around Storybrooke is too keep portal jumpers at the same place they tried to breach our defences.”  She explains to Emma, her impatience is indicated only by a small gesture of her hands.

“All right, Madam Mayor.  You are the expert on this stuff.”  Regina just _knows_ that her left eyebrow twitches in annoyance.       
But she doesn’t say anything, because they are finally at the harbour…  
And for a long moment even her breath hitches at the sight that welcomes them.  
She can’t help but stare disbelievingly, until she hears Emma cracking her knuckles and declaring:

“All right, let’s get on with this freak show!”


End file.
